


The Return: Crèvecoeur Edition

by ElDiablito_SF



Series: Snippets in Time [5]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, No Sex, SO SAD, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After d'Artagnan gathers Athos from Amiens, they go back to Crevecoeur to pick up Aramis, and the bill needs to be settled.  That is all.  Literally.  But if you've read my other stories, you can infer everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return: Crèvecoeur Edition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speakmefair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakmefair/gifts).



> A note on this whole series, you may have gathered that none of them were written in chronological order, ergo the title of "Snippets in Time." However, I am posting them here in the chronological order they would have occurred in canon.
> 
> Originally written for speak_me_fair in June 2010.

 

           As the three friends were about to set out of Crèvecoeur, Aramis went back inside the inn to settle his bill while d’Artagnan gave the last orders to the servants with regards to the lackey wagon.  Athos followed Aramis with his eyes, his hand absentmindedly playing with the fifty pistoles in his pocket.  There appeared to be some kind of an innate aversion on his part with regards to the handling of money, as it tended to burn a hole in his pockets much faster than in the case of any of his friends.  Today would be no different:  the sixty bottles of that fine Rioja were calling his name in the most dulcet of tones.  He followed Aramis back inside the inn, to settle his own account.

            Athos brushed up against his friend, as the latter leaned against the counter, in such a way that conveyed its intentions only to the recipient of the touch, but not to the casual observer.

            “You’re going to get such a trouncing when we get back to Paris,” he said huskily, under his breath.  Aramis cocked an eyebrow in response and turned his face away demonstratively.

            “Really?” he practically purred, still not looking at Athos.  “ _I_ was not the one perpetrating grandiose acts of stupidity in the past two weeks!” 

            “My acts of stupidity were at least entertaining,” Athos continued, in a semi-whisper, “but _your_ acts of stupidity were likely to land you in a cloister!”

            Aramis thanked the innkeeper and was about to walk away from the counter, but the hand of Athos, clasped like a vise over his arm, stopped him.

            “Would you load sixty bottles of that Rioja we had earlier into our lackey’s wagon?” Athos tossed his purse in its entirety onto the counter and, turning back to his companion, resumed their conversation.  “First, you get yourself shot, and then you try to take holy orders, and you’re trying to accuse _me_ of grandiose acts of stupidity?”

            “I honestly did not expect you, of all people, to survive this little … outing,” Aramis answered, finally making eye contact with his friend.  “Insanity is the thing you excel second best in, after all.”

            “And the first?”

            “Will you let my arm go?”

            “Yes, lover.”

            “Athos!” Aramis hissed, blushing to the roots of his immaculate hair, and casting his eyes about the room to make sure no one could hear them.

            “I spent the last two weeks drinking myself into a stupor at the mere thought of you not surviving your ridiculously unnecessary wound,” the former continued in low but heated tones.  “And I’ll owe you an extra thrashing for _that_ too!”

            “I do wish I could have come to Amiens with d’Artagnan to watch you being extracted out of that cellar,” Aramis answered, an inadvertent smile sneaking up on his face.

            “I wish you had too.”

            “I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

            “I’m glad you’ve recovered.”

            “What is taking the two of you so long?” they suddenly heard the voice of d’Artagnan, who appeared in the doorway behind them, looking alarmed and with his hand on the hilt of his sword.  “I thought they had laid another ambush for us!”

            “No, not this time,” Aramis responded, giving d’Artagnan his most charming of smiles, and gliding past him out of the inn.

            “I’ll be damned if I ever let that happen again!” Athos swore, pocketing the rest of his paltry change that the innkeeper had left on the counter.

            “I think I may have heard you say that before, my dear Athos,” d’Artagnan pointed out.

            “Well, it all turned out fine in the end, didn’t it?” Athos smirked.  “If the wagon is loaded, I’m very much ready to be reunited with Porthos!”

            It was d’Artagnan’s turn to prevent his friend from walking out of the inn by blocking his way with one arm.

            “What was that all about in here?” he asked Athos, his look somewhere between mischievous and concerned.

            Athos gave a small laugh and fixing his eyes on d’Artagnan in such a way that did not allow any interpretation to his meaning, he said, “Theology,” and that was the end of that discussion.

            “Right then,” d’Artagnan mumbled to himself.  “This could get awkward.  I’m going to need Porthos, and sooner rather than later.” 

            D’Artagnan cast another furtive glance at his two friends, who were already mounted and ready to depart from Crèvecoeur.  “Of course,” he thought to himself, “And I’m disappointed in myself in taking so long to notice it!”

 


End file.
